Perfection
by the black knight
Summary: They were perfect. But perfection has its price.


Perfection

She was a waitress, and he was a patron.

She had poured him his coffee, smiling, and abashed, he had smiled back.

They never formally exchanged names, but hers was pinned on her blouse, and he carried his LEP tag with pride, even if he was just a private.

He ate there every day, for every meal, although he detested the food, and she served him every time, even if there were other waitresses and other tables.

One day, shyly, he asked if she would like to take supper with him, and blushing, she agreed.

That was the first time in two years that Julius had eaten outside of the dingy café where Cheryl worked, and they enjoyed the food.

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He loved his work, but he loved her more, and that knowledge always gave her a special tingle.

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It was another two years before he summoned the courage to take the ring out.

He had taken out a loan to buy it ever since she agreed to have dinner with him, after finding his savings insufficient. Even then it was just plain gold, no diamond. He only wanted the best for her, but the best was not always in reach.

He was almost apologetic about the sorry ring as he knelt on one knee and asked that fateful question.

She put on the simple ring with pride, and he thought his heart would burst.

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She was resplendent in white, and he was as debonair as he was handsome.

As the wedding bells tolled, many of the wedding guests sighed, some with vicarious happiness, some with envy.

Everyone agreed they were the perfect couple.

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They were inseparable. They loved one another, anybody could see that.

Some nights, after sex, he would hold her close and tell her how much he loved her, and she would snuggle next to him and say that she loved him too, and they would sleep, content and secure in each others arms.

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They celebrated his promotion over champagne, thinking it was a good thing.

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She sat at the table, waiting.

He had to work longer hours. It was perfectly understandable.

She didn't mind him being tied down by responsibilities. That was fine.

But… she didn't know if he loved her more than he loved his job anymore, and that uncertainly ate at her from the inside.

Dinner was long cold, but she wasn't hungry anyway.

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Every couple had disagreements.

She was lonely and worried, and he was tired and stressed.

They would work this out eventually. They just needed some time.

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He worked longer and longer hours, not wanting to return to the frosty silence they called home.

She had caught his eye one night. She had stayed back. A glance turned into an innocent suggestion, which turned into something else.

He didn't come home that night.

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They made up shortly after, but it wasn't the same.

That night, after sex, she waited for his reassuring words of love, but they never came.

She couldn't sleep that night.

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He continued with his trysts, hating himself for it, but loving every minute. The knowledge that it would kill Cheryl if she knew should be a deterrent, but for some reason it only made him more excited.

He loved Cheryl, of course. He always would.

But this was different.

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It was obvious. The lipstick stains on his shirt, the inconsistencies, the way he wouldn't touch her anymore...

She brought up the subject of kids that night, hoping that a child would bring him back to her.

He said no, but she had expected as much anyway.

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She notices that he doesn't wear his ring anymore.

She wouldn't have commented on it even if they had talked.

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Once, out of spite, she had cheated on him too, but after she just felt empty and used. Briefly, she wondered what he saw in it.

Bored and lonely, she tried knitting, and tried not to think about stabbing Julius in the heart with the knitting needle.

But then he'd be all hers.

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She had come home early again. She prayed he wasn't at it again, that maybe he had stopped cheating, that maybe he had decided he loved her once more.

Moans of passion echoed through the empty hall, and she quietly closed the door behind her as she let herself out. He usually took about three hours. Allowing him time to clean up and let his mistress out, that would be about forty more minutes before she could come home and pretend nothing happened.

She didn't know why she was feeling so hurt, so betrayed. She should have gotten used to it after a year, two months and twelve days.

Some days she could pretend she didn't feel anything, and those were okay.

Today was not one of those days.

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He closed his eyes and groaned he came to a climax.

"Cheryl…" he whispered.

His mistress either didn't notice or didn't care.

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Blinded by tears, she never saw the tram.

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He grieved, of course. He stopped screwing around, whether out of respect for her memory or guilt or even boredom no one knew.

He started drinking again, moving from one vice to the next seamlessly.

He grieved, but sometimes he was relieved, even if he hated himself for being so.

At least she had never found out.


End file.
